Of Shadows, Souls and Card Games
by Written Parody
Summary: A collection of varying drabbles concerning all our favourite characters and some of the not-so-loved ones. Different pairings, people, ratings and sanity levels.
1. Author's Note

**Of Shadows, Souls and Card Games **

Author's Note

If you're looking for proper, concrete plots that don't start or end stupidly then turn back now. These drabbles are essentially full of error, OCC-ness, my own warped mind, impossible circumstances and so on. They were just lying around on my PC and, because I'm on a Yu-Gi-Oh binge at the moment, I decided to post them. If one person gets a plot idea then this compilation has done its job.

There will not be any blatant yaoi. There will be a bad and often unorganized mixing of Dub and original with a spicing of manga that is derived from Wikipedia. Which, just by the way, is the most awesome site ever created.

In short: these drabbles will be _bad_. Thought I should warn you before proceeding. Reviews will still be appreciated beyond your comprehension.

~Written Parody


	2. The Choice

**Title: **The Choice

**Summary: **Set in the afterlife. Atem dreams of a choice he'll probably have to make some day. It's more of a reoccurring nightmare, really. One that eats away at him always.

**Characters: **Mana, Atem, Yugi.

**Rating: **Tfor angst and a bit of violence.

**Pairings: **If you squint it's Vaseshipping (Atem and Mana)

**Total Words: **835

**Warnings: **OCC Atem, AU setting (kinda) and really bad plot.

**Extra Notes: **This fic was originally longer, called 'Pure' and was written for a Light/Dark contest a friend of mine ran. I didn't like the longer version, either.

**Disclaimer: **Yu-Gi-Oh! and it's characters are not mine.

* * *

The darkness around him stretched for as far as he could see, solid and lifeless. As he wondered around in it he was vaguely aware that his feet made no sound as they hit the blackness that was the floor. He was just beginning to wonder if he was going to continue walking around endlessly when light appeared to his left. He whirled and felt his throat catch. Next to a brightly lit up stage, suspended from her wrists from a pole hung Mana. Her eyes were closed and he couldn't detect any breathing. He leapt forward to pull her down but suddenly there was a cloaked figure in front of him.

"Not so fast, dear Pharaoh." The cloaked figure's voice was familiar in an unsettling way, but he couldn't place it.

"What have you done with her?" He demanded in a snarl. "I swear to Anubis if you've hurt her…!"

The figure chuckled darkly, seemingly pleased by the pharaoh's reaction.

"So you really do care for her… Interesting… I wonder how deeply your love for the little magician girl goes?" He remained silent, glaring at the cloaked figure in abhorrence. "I know, let's play a little game, shall we?"

"What kind of game?" He was cautious, but a little relieved; he was good at games.

"A very simple one, I assure you. All you have to do is make a choice. One simple little choice. Are you ready?" He nodded stiffly. "Alright then: which one will you save? Yourself or your little friend over there?"

The pause for thought lasted less than a second. "Her. I'll save her. Do what you want with me."

The figure laughed again and Mana was suddenly free. In relief he ran to her side, gently laying her across his lap. He was dimly aware of the figure yanking something up from behind the stage. The thing yelled and the sound froze the blood in his veins.

"Yugi! Let him go!"

He was on his feet, desperation and anger coursing through him as the cloaked figure held his hikari up by the neck. Yugi was struggling desperately but could not break the grip of the figure, who was chuckling now.

"No take-backs, Pharaoh. You made your decision."

"My decision was that you take me!" he bellowed.

"But I am," the figure replied calmly. "I didn't specify which you I'd be taking. His blood is on your hands. Always on your hands."

"No… Yugi I…" His hikari's pleading, desperate eyes met his. "No! I didn't mean for this to…" The figure squeezed and Yugi let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony, writhing in the figure's grip. "Yugi!"

In utter horror he watched the little body go limp. Horror gave way to rage he had not felt in ages. Rage that took over and claimed his entire body. He rounded on the figure, shaking and ready for murder.

"I am going to make you wish you were never born," he hissed. "I am going to make you beg and plead for the relief of death and then I will kill you!"

The figure infuriatingly laughed, his hands empty of Yugi's body now.

"You can't kill me," came the chortle. Before he could demand why not, the figure pushed back his hood. Horror flooded him and he staggered backwards, the denial already on his lips. "I am you," his reflection replied, grinning evilly as the green mark on his forehead glowed…

With a yell Atem sat bolt upright, breathing hard with wide, staring eyes. He looked around, taking in the large and spacious room with a frantic gaze. It had happened again. Groaning, he put his head in his hands and gripped his hair tightly. When would it stop? When would people stop coming after him?

And then, from the very deepest part of his soul came another whisper: when would he stop hurting them all?

His fists reined onto the wall, begging to bleed without being granted their request. Trembling, he launched himself onto the balcony, staring up to the sky as if begging for relief. The stars mocked him, as silent and calm as he was raging. He lay back down, staring with unseeing eyes at the ceiling. Unbidden one of the many memories he had lost floated back into his mind.

_There was brilliant sunlight everywhere and he was running next to somebody. They both skidded to a halt and he turned to find a young Mana's face shining up to him._

_"I really hope he's here: we need somebody to play the bad guy in our game."_

_She glanced at the door to the hut they had stopped at._

_"I don't see why I just can't play the evil monster that we vanquish for this once," he heard himself replying._

_The beautiful green eyes he knew so well turned to him, and he seemed to get lost in their depth. Mana's laughter filled his mind._

_"You? No way! You're far too good and pure, silly."_

Silently, the Pharaoh wept.

* * *

**AN 2: **I honestly don't know who he'd choose if he was given the chance between Mana or Yugi. I've battled it out in my mind many times, and I've never come to a conclusion.


	3. Inevitable

**Title: **Inevitable

**Summary: **Yami Yugi and Yami Bakura are dueling. The battle ends with Bakura being badly injured. Marik is about to call for help when it comes in a very unexpected way.

**Characters: **Yami Bakura/Theif King, Yami Yugi/Atem, Yugi, Marik, Ryou Bakura and mentions of Yami Marik/Malik.

**Rating: **T for violence, mentions of abuse and… safety.

**Pairings: **None. Although I suppose if you really, really squint very, very hard it could be Tendershipping (Ryou and Bakura)

**Total Words: **2 285

**Warnings: **OCC-ness, AU setting that isn't explained very well, slight gore, slight abuse and plain lameness.

**Extra Notes: **Second fic that I originally wrote for the Light/Dark contest. It's just as lame as the first one, although it's kept its original length.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. As much as I want it.

* * *

He really wished Yugi would stop looking at him like that. It was as if the smaller teen was waiting for him to pass out or crumple in pain or something absurd along those lines, even though he had told him what felt like a million times that he was alright. To escape the sideways glance he was receiving he looked at the walls of the dirty and decrepit alley the two of them were standing in right then. The worn graffiti on the walls vaguely interested him and as he followed the patterns his eyes fell upon the remains of a window. The glass was dirty, but it was not so dirty that he could not see his own reflection. As he caught sight of himself he winced and suddenly understood why Yugi was looking at him with such concern. His usually white hair was streaked with black from the ground and there was dried blood on his temple from a gash caused by a knife. His lip was also split and his right eye was very slightly swollen.

As Ryou studied himself again, this time calmly, he realized he had gotten lucky this time, as far as punishment from his yami went. He had especially gotten lucky because now his darker half had his own body and thus Ryou did not have to be kept alive for his gain. For half a second he was tempted to tell this stroke of luck to Yugi to make the teen stop looking at him like he had been, but he beat the thought down. Saying that would only make matters worse, if that was actually possible at this stage. He glanced at the mouth of the alley where the duel in the adjacent street could be seen. The monsters on both sides of the field were slightly obscured by the thick black mist that curled around the battlefield. The faces of the two yamis who were duelling were grim, and each one was showing the strain of the semi-Shadow Duel. He felt another pair of eyes on him and looked across to the other side of the street to see Marik looking at him. The Egyptian raised his eyebrow and Ryou shook his head. Marik grimaced and watched the duel again although he, like the other two hikaris, knew exactly who would win.

Yugi shifted, his body tensing in excitement suddenly. That meant that Yami was close to winning. And indeed the look on the pharaoh's face was one of burning triumph. He knew his own yami's skill well enough to know he was good; sneaky and direct in his attack and defence. But Yugi had not been crowned the King of Games for nothing. Whatever Yami was planning to unleash then, the thief would not be able to come back from it no matter how hard, or dirty, he fought. Of that fact Ryou was sure. And, it seemed, so was Yugi. He had stopped giving Ryou sideways looks and was now fully focused on the duel, his face intense in such a way that the Brit knew he and Yami were communicating through the mind link.

Yami drew and he and Yugi smiled at the exactly the same time, although Yugi's was more innocent. At the knowledge that it was soon to be over, he shut his eyes without fully knowing why. There was no joy in him at the prospect of Bakura being beaten. Only an empty feeling, as though the violence was a pointless, endless, vicious circle that just made him feel tired inside. Behind his closed lids he replayed the attack that had given him the wounds he had now. Had he really been stupid and naïve enough to think the Thief King had been telling the truth? The answer to that question was a simple yes. No matter how much his mind kept reminding him of all that had happened before he had still trusted his dark half, let him into his house, thought he really was trying to change. He felt like laughing at himself for being so utterly dense. He knew that if Yugi had been a meaner person the teen would have said "I told you so" by now. He wasn't really sure he was free from that speech; there was still the Pharaoh.

Although Ryou would not fight back in the event the "I told you so" speech did come, he started to look for excuses for his behaviour. His yami had manipulated him? Yes, he had. But he should know better by now than to be taken in by the thief. He had taken in his friends by pretending to be him, for Ra's sake! That should have been an indication on how well he knew people, how well he could manipulate them into doing what he wanted. He should have seen it coming, should have known that nobody changed that easily. Marik hanging around should have been his first warning, the careful lockdown Bakura had kept on their mind link his second. Why hadn't he paid any attention to the warning signs, to his gut feeling? Was it really because he'd _wanted _to believe his darker half had changed?

The Brit frowned at this. Was that even possible? Could the reason for his stupidity lie in the simple fact that he _wanted _his yami to be good? If that was the case, the next question would have to be _why the _heck _would he want that? _Before, during Duellist Kingdom and Battle City and all of those times, he had never even spoken directly to his yami. The darker side of him had just been a nightmare presence he had tried his hardest to ignore and fight. Then Bakura had lost and he had truly thought it was over; he was alone and free. But his freedom had been cut short the night he had tried to run into the church for shelter. That was the first time he had spoken to Bakura, the first time he been forced to admit the spirit existed. And when Yami had returned from his trip to the memory world and told everybody Bakura was dead he had felt no remorse, only relief. So why, in the name of every deity known to man, did Ryou so readily believe the Thief King, the object of endless nightmares and pain, when he suddenly reappeared in his own body, bringing the Ring with him?

Something Marik had said came back to him then. _"Every light needs its dark. It's inevitable; they'll always be drawn to each other." _ The thought of needing the Thief King, of being drawn to him in any way, filled Ryou with an abject horror. It was almost exactly like bugs being drawn to fly paper. The insects landed on the magnet that pulled them, and then died slowly and painfully. Was Marik right? Was he really inexorably drawn to his dark side? It would explain his readiness to believe and forgive, but it would also mean that he would be faced with a reality he had never considered before. A reality that he would much rather bury under walls of his subconscious and never look at, let alone accept. That was if it was actually true. Which was doubtful… Right?

A sudden roar made him jump but not open his eyes. The sound came from one of the monsters, and from the twinge that came from his slightly closed mind link he knew his yami was getting the ending he had seen coming in Yami's eyes. The tugging at the link was the only indication of the pain that was being inflicted; Bakura would never give his opponent the satisfaction of hearing him utter any sound of pain. He knew from past experience that if he wanted his yami could transfer some, or even most, of the pain onto his hikari and so Ryou kept himself ready to throw up mental blocks at a second's notice. But nothing happened, whether because their separate bodies disallowed the transfer or for some other reason Ryou did not know.

Yugi shifted again and finally the Brit opened his brown eyes, although the motion was cautious. The monsters and shadows were gone from the street before them, and only Yami was left standing. In front of him, a few yards off, lay the Thief King. Ryou did not want to look; his stomach fluttered with something akin to nausea. He saw Marik move from his spectator's seat and hurry over to his fallen friend. From the expression on his face, Ryou was right not to look. Yugi had already hurried over to his own yami and was having a low conversation with him, no stress on his face now. Yami grinned at his light, only slightly worse for wear. Then his amethyst eyes flickered to Ryou and the smile turned kinder. If the Brit was going to get the speech, it would not be any time soon.

Marik looked up from the battered form in front of him to see Ryou's back as he started walking after the two Yugi's. He frowned but no anger really engulfed him; he could not blame the hikari for his decision. He hadn't been entirely sure even in the beginning if Ryou would be convinced enough to let Bakura stay in his house, but the boy had let him in, even seeming to trust his yami, although very fragilely. Now that trust had been shattered and the light would wall himself up again, just like in the beginning. Even he didn't know what he would have done if it had been Malik who had done the same to him. He had a sneaking suspicion he'd do the opposite to Ryou and give his dark another chance. But he had to be honest with himself and admit that was probably because he was an actual part of Malik and because he was the darkest of the three hikaris.

His gaze returned to the semi-conscious Bakura and he winced. He really needed to get to hospital, or at least a doctor. With a sigh Marik stood up and dug out his mobile, calling the telephone operator to get a list of doctors' telephone numbers. As he was put on hold and stood listening to the very annoying music, a sound made him vaguely look around. He nearly dropped his phone in shock.

Ryou's face was weary as he approached his fallen yami, his eyes closed off rather than radiating warmth, as they usually seemed to. Marik's eyebrows rose as the British teen came to a slightly shaking halt next to the body. Bakura's eyes were closed, but he was still conscious, although barely. Ryou swallowed and his expression was so peculiar that Marik wondered if he meant to attack his dark side or something. He had never thought of Ryou as somebody who would so something violent, but then again he was presented with an opportunity like this, an opportunity to get back at the person who had caused him so much pain… The hikari's expression twisted and changed into one as unfathomable as the one before. He glanced once back the way he had come; it was empty- Yami and Yugi had gone home. Then he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and squatted beside his look-alike.

"I saw…" He seemed unsure how to go on. "I saw in your memories… When you were sleeping and let your guard down… I saw your memory of how Yugi helped the Pharaoh in his memory world…" Bakura twitched slightly but otherwise showed no sign that he heard his light. "The pharaoh said because of their bond Yugi could give the Pharaoh some of his own strength… It was almost an instant heal… So…" Another deep breath and a stretching silence. Then, "So take it. You saw how. Here."

Ryou hesitantly extended both his hands and then slowly, cautiously, placed them on Bakura's shoulder. There was no light, wind or any form of sound to indicate the transfer but Marik could sense it. He could see, without seeing, the energy flow from Ryou into Bakura. And, right in front of the Egyptian's eyes, Bakura's marks and wounds started to fade until they were almost completely gone. When he shifted Ryou let go and hastily stood, his face half full of disbelief of what he had done and half wry acceptance of something. He swayed dangerously on his feet, weak now himself after giving all his energy to Bakura. But even as Marik automatically moved forwards to catch him he bit his lip and righted himself, shaking slightly. Lavender eyes met dark brown, and the two hikaris stared at each other for a long moment, while Bakura began to arouse at their feet.

"I'm…" Ryou hesitated again, his face going blank with all the emotions he was feeling. "I'm going to go get stuff for dinner. Pasta. It'll be ready in about an hour so… don't either of you be late…"

Without so much as another look at his yami, who was fully awake by then, he turned and walked towards the shops, quite unsteady. Bakura sat up and Marik, hearing a muffled voice in his hand, finally disconnected the call. There was utter silence as the two watched Ryou stumble off.

"Well…" For once the blond didn't really know what to say. He opted for voicing the first thought that popped into his head. "You know, I always thought Yugi was the purest out of us three… Now I'm not so sure anymore…"

Bakura was silent, watching the last place his other half had been seen.


	4. Boundaries

**Title: **Boundaries.

**Summary: **Yami Bakura is sick of his host fighting back. And so he comes up with a little plan to teach him obedience. But even he doesn't know the depths of Ryou's secrets. Bakura's POV.

**Characters: **Yami Bakura and Ryou Bakura with little mentions of others.

**Rating: **T+ for angst, abuse, gore references and general darkness.

**Pairings: **None.

**Total Words: **2 839

**Warnings: **Gore, violence, mild swearing, abuse, VERY BAD OCC OCCURRENCES, a horrid conglomerate of dub, original and manga thrown together with my own bad plotting. This one is seriously rather terrible, plot-wise.

**Extra Notes: **Last one that I wrote for the Light/Dark challenge. In reality, it was the one I wrote first. It, too, kept its original length. Despite its complete and utter crappiness I like this one best. My inner Ryou fangirl is to blame.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. If I did, Ryou would so be a main character.

* * *

It's actually rather laughable, the way he still tries to fight. He's supposedly a smart boy; never gets below a B in school. Then why is he dense enough to think he could ever, in a million years, defeat me? In the beginning I thought he was just desperate and uneducated about how I really was. But now, after scraping through torment after torment, he still refuses to completely submit. I do not know whether to laugh or scream at him for his obscene stubbornness.

Surely he must be tired of all the pain? Surely he wants to make it easier for himself? I know he wants it to end; he's begged, cried and wished _that_ enough times. And yet even though he screams and cries and begs through every torture, he still refuses to yield to me. He still fights when I try to take over, still tries to meddle in my plans, still struggles to release himself when I lock him in his soul room. It is almost as though _he _has a split personality: during torment the pleading, screaming, bleeding victim, after and before torment taunting me and inviting the next bout of affliction. As much as I hate to admit it, his behaviour puzzles me. And being confused pisses me off.

So that's why I decided to give him a double dose that night. It wasn't really a special night; things had gone as they usually did. I had ordered, he had refused, I had punished him for his disobedience, he had gone to bed with wounds down his arms and face, eyes red from tears, throat raw from screaming. And I had watched him go with a smirk as I usually do, relishing in every wince that crossed his face. It was then that it hit me: the same thing happened every time. No matter how I punished him, mentally or physically, he always defied me the next time. That made me very, very angry.

And so I decided to go beyond what I had done before in the hopes that I finally extinguished whatever pure fighting spirit he had in him. I waited until I knew for sure he was deep asleep, and then I materialised into my spirit form and stationed myself next to his bed. Chuckling at the prospect of what I would do to him I shut my eyes and reached out towards his mind. He was, obviously, blocking me out. I destroyed the wall easily; he was sleeping and thus not putting too much effort into the block. He only shifted slightly as I gained access to his mind, and so I delved in at once. I skipped past all the thoughts and memories and dreams he was not hiding from me; those would not do any damage. After a few moments I encountered another wall and, smelling victory, began to break it down. I shattered the restraint and made whatever it was play through my hikari's head, seeing it myself as it ran through his mind.

It was an old nightmare, one he'd had when he was younger. Some garbage about a city of shining, white-clothed people that turned into horrible demons and ripped people apart. How mediocre. There was hardly and blood or guts at all. No wonder the wall had been easy to break; this was pitiable. Even so, I felt his discomfort at the nightmare, the way he tried to shield himself from it and failed. It hurt him, no matter how insignificantly, and that was all I was really after. I let the nightmare play itself out into some other dream and started searching through his mind again. The next mental barrier I came across was much stronger than the first, and it took a lot more concentration to break it down. I patiently struggled with it, though, as I knew the more he tried to keep me out of something, the more that thing could hurt him.

This nightmare was half memory half fiction. Now he was the one mercilessly killing people without being able to stop, no matter how much he pleaded with his hands to discontinue the murdering. This one was a little more satisfactory; the people bled well and he could actually see the fear in their eyes as they begged for mercy. I'm pretty sure he got the lucid parts of the dream from a memory of mine I accidentally let slip into his head. This time he shuddered, trying to curl into a tighter ball on his bed. So losing control of his body really did scare him… That was something I would keep in mind for the future. I'll admit I drew out the half-memory, letting it almost pause on all the good and gory parts, making him twitch and whimper beside me. I couldn't hold back a laugh then; this was brilliant. Not even past the starters, and he was already writhing.

And so it went on, me breaking down his mental walls and him being dragged through nightmare after nightmare, unable to wake up. It got harder and harder to get to him as the memories or thoughts became more and more painful, but the struggle and strain proved to be worth it every time. He cried and begged and thrashed almost more than when I was cutting into him with an object. Whoever the old fart was who said mental affliction is worse than physical is probably right. But as the night wore on I began to get tired because of all the effort it took to break him down. And the effort was not so worth it any more; I needed something _really _spectacular, something that would once and for all make him submit to me because of its sheer power. Kind of like blackmail, except that it would hardly be something criminal he'd done that I could use against him; he is far too pure to ever have done anything remotely illicit before I came along. I was starting to think that I had reached the limit of my torture- a limit that wasn't exactly inept after all the agony the memories had caused him- when I suddenly, very faintly, caught a glimmer of another wall. As I explored I came to realize that this one was at the very center of his mind, so deep and well protected that I had not noticed it before. It was exactly what I was looking for.

I am almost ashamed to admit that it took a very, very long time to break that wall. Even in his slumber he added layers to whatever he was protecting, so that it happened that as soon as I had eventually manage to peel back one layer, he'd added another to compensate for it. I started to become very enraged at his resistance, and now curiosity also played a role at me trying to break into that very protected thought. Finally I yanked out another memory that had caused him considerable pain before and let it occupy his concentration, while I attacked the memory I really wanted. It took more effort than before as I was now concentrating on two things at once, but it meant that once a layer of protection was peeled back I was one layer closer to the hidden thoughts.

As I struggled with the last few layers I suddenly realized that it was not only me he was trying to keep out. He was walling away whatever it was from himself too; he did not want to see it. He had buried it deep within his mind and had walled it up so tightly just so that he would not catch even a fragment of it in his everyday thoughts. That was when the curiosity in me burned brighter. He had proved time and time again that he could handle anything I threw at him, even if it did take a while for him to work through some things. So in order for him to have locked something away instead of dealing with it meant whatever it was had to be bad. Very, very bad. And what on earth could my little light have done that was that unthinkable?

The last layer was the hardest, and took almost all the might I have to break through. As cracks began to form in the mental defence I saw that it was not one memory or thought he was holding back but many of them, a consecutive string of events that together was unbearable to him. Finally, finally, I managed to get through, and the memories all flowed out like water that has been tightly dammed up for too long.

At first I was disappointed and pissed again. The memories were not bad at all. In fact they were the total opposite. They were of him, ranging as far back as five years old, happy and running and skipping in little hikari joy. I nearly wanted to puke. But, just as I was about to pull out in disgust, I noticed something that I had not in my initial shock. He was not alone in any of the memories. He had somebody else with him, somebody half a head shorter than him with exactly the same eyes. Somebody with long, blue hair and dimples on her smiling cheeks. Somebody he called Amane in a voice that radiated love.

Amane Bakura. My hikari's little twin sister. I was genuinely staggered. Never had I ever imagined he had a sister, let alone a twin. I then paid rapt attention to the memories, watching how the two of them grew together, hearing their petty fights, their loving goodnights, their protective outbursts all through the years. It didn't take even a remotely smart person to figure out that the twins had been close. Very, very close. They told each other absolutely everything, and when the smallest of tragedies struck they held onto each other like the other person was their life raft. Amane was, I saw with interest, almost the opposite of my hikari. Where he was careful, thoughtful, sweet and pure she was brash, fiery, loud and opinionated. She acted before she thought, said things that got her into trouble more times than not and got herself into physical fights that he had to bail her out of. And yet, even though she got him beaten up and in trouble, even though she wrecked his things and exasperated him to no end, he loved her more than he did himself.

A painful edge started to enter the memories and I focused more. There was one of his father and a woman telling them, as gently as they could, that his father would be moving to Japan for business and, because Amane was not the best scholar it was the smart thing to do to let her finish her school year in England. The two put up a vigorous fight. Most of the temper-tantrums and the screaming and shouting came from her, but I was surprised to find my light also made his opinion known. I think that may have been the first time I had ever seen him shout at anybody. Then came the part that shocked me more than anything has in many hundreds of years. I came into the picture.

As a sort of peace offering his mother gave Amane the mobile she had wanted and his father brought home the Millennium Ring for him, saying it was connected to the game he loved playing. Both were grateful for the gifts, but still reluctant to give in. Eventually, though, they knew they were beaten. A tearful goodbye was said, one that was so raw and painful even in the memory I wondered how in Ra's name I hadn't noticed it at the time. Had I really been that self-absorbed that I had not even felt the raw aching that was tearing my new host apart at saying goodbye to his twin? Apparently not, because that night was the first time I had even heard of Amane.

The pain slowly started to fade away as the weeks wore on, and I noticed that the memories were not as clear now, as though they were not important. Then, suddenly, they became crystal again, starting with the memory of a night he had been writing Amane a letter. It was all boring facts about how he had started at Domino High that day, but he did not get very far until I interrupted him. Again, I was truly stunned. I had taken over his body in the middle of him writing a Ra-damned letter to the girl and I still hadn't twigged that she existed? I was obviously not as observant as I gave myself credit for. That, or my hikari had more control over his memories than I had originally thought. Still not much control, though, as the free playing of the previously walled-up memories proved.

I was about to leave him to his happy little thoughts and go and see where Amane was now and why she hadn't contacted him in years when a sudden burst of pain shot through me from my hikari's mind. A new memory was playing, the clearest of them all, and even the start of it, which seemed to me very boring and unimportant, had him fighting to make it stop. And how he fought! Stronger than anything I had ever experienced before. It was like he was a drowning person fighting for air, the way he tried to suppress the memory and the way panic and pain clutched him as he could not because of me. I obviously kept it open; I was curious and still on a mission to torture him, after all. In the memory his phone started to ring, and he answered it. Through his excited conversation with his sister he fought, trying to shove the memory away. I held it there as his excitement turned to disappointment; the roads were too slippery and thus they would not be spending Christmas together. His mother came onto the phone and he began to beg and plead with her to come anyway. To forget the state of the roads and drive down; everything would be okay.

As the memory him begged, the present, sleeping him began to cry. The reaction shocked me; he was weeping over a phone call? Of course I had seen him cry many a time, but the tears were usually very justified. Speaking over a phone hardly warranted tears of such magnitude, or such deep, aching sorrow. I was distracted by his growing pain and sorrow so I only caught the gist of how the conversation ended; his mother and sister would come down that evening, despite the roads. In his memory he was glad, in the present he was breaking. As the phone started ringing again in his memory, hours later than the first phone call, he began to fight me harder. I had to use almost everything I had to keep the memory open, a few emotions playing through me then. One of them was frustration at his stubbornness, one was curiosity at what happened, one was pleasure at his obvious pain, one was triumph that I made him feel that hurt. I now had my weapon; the worst part of the memory hadn't come yet and he was already in as much pain and torment as he usually was when I was done with the punishment.

His father picked up the phone. His struggling stopped, as if he knew what was coming was inevitable. His crying turned to sobbing, jerking his sleeping body as he gripped the blankets in agony. His father's face paled and he dropped the phone, almost sinking down to the floor. At the look on his face I abruptly felt a jolt of realization through me. Suddenly I knew why he couldn't face this, why he was in such agony next to me, why his father was so distanced towards him, why Amane never called. The roads had been too treacherous. The two women had never made it to Japan.

As his memory father started yelling at him how it was all his fault, a fact that was already permanently clawing at his mind, I shut down the memory. Using all the strength and power I had I piled layers and layers of mental protection over the memories again, until they were as tightly sealed shut as I had found them. Then I closed the mind link and stood up, gazing down at my still sobbing hikari. Yes, I still wanted him to give in. Yes, I still wanted to cause him as much pain as possible for his defiance. Yes, his anguish still brought me pleasure.

But I would not do it that way. Not with that weapon. Even I, the tormentor, the King of Thieves, the extreme darkness to his light, know which boundaries not to cross.


	5. Revenge and Other Lessons

**Title: **Revenge and Other Lessons

**Summary: **Ryou gets himself mugged, and his lack of response frustrates Marik. So the two have a talk, and Marik gets enlightened into the workings of Ryou Bakura's mind.

**Characters: **Marik Ishtar and Ryou Bakura.

**Rating: **K+

**Pairings: **None.

**Total Words: **1 104

**Warnings: ****LAME.** Note the underlined bold quality of that one word. It should give you a clue.

**Extra Notes: **Did I mention this is lame? It's got no real plot. I just felt like digging into a possible aspect of Ryou's character. I love that boy to bits.

**Disclaimer: **Own nothing.

* * *

Since the end to Battle City, Ryou Bakura found with surprise that he had made a new friend in Marik. The blond Egyptian seemed to understand what he was trying to say, even when he didn't know himself and he in turn understood the whole motorbike fetish for what it really was. He could tell Ishizu was surprised and maybe even a little weary in the beginning, but after a while she seemed to understand them too and let it be, becoming friendly with the teen herself. While Yugi and the rest were off somewhere in America and then battling in Kaiba's new Blue Eyes Dome, Marik and Ryou amused themselves with each others company, both in Egypt and Japan. (They preferred Egypt because of its weather and Ishizu's cooking but loved Japan because Ryou had his very own apartment and so they could do what they wanted.) After a while, the fragile feeling of the friendship seemed to disappear, and they were comfortable arguing with each other just for the heck of it. Ryou taught an initially sceptical Marik about RPGs and after five or so harrowing motorbike rides Ryou didn't have the need to throw up any more.

The two were planning to go to the annual race just outside Cairo together, but Ryou never pitched up, or answered any of Marik's calls. The Egyptian was rather ticked off at the Brit, until he found his friend unconscious in the Pharaoh's tomb and guessed what must have happened. Ryou confirmed his theory by telling him about the church, and Marik had shuddered in sympathy, being able to imagine what he had gone through. Then it was all driven from their minds as Yami and the others returned, and the duel of the century started. Ryou wasn't paying as much attention to it as Marik was; he was too busy feeling utterly relieved that Bakura was really gone this time. Yugi had won, the tomb had collapsed, and they had all decided to head to Marik's house for the night and catch the flight back tomorrow. On the way back Ryou, whose luck was still as bad as always, had his wallet pick-pocketed and spent the best part of the next hour driving around the city at break-neck speed with Marik and Odeon (who followed in the Ishtar's jeep). They managed to get his wallet back, as full as before, and were finally able to relax on Marik's patio. Everybody else was inside either sleeping, eating or comforting a pretty sad Yugi. Ryou could sense Marik wanted to ask him something, but stayed quiet until the Egyptian wanted to voice it.

"You didn't do anything to him."

Ryou blinked at Marik in confusion; his sentence made no sense at all.

"The guy who stole your wallet," Marik clarified. "He was standing right in front of you, unarmed, cowering… You didn't even spit on him. You _thanked _him, but that was it."

"He would have stumbled backwards and crushed the old lady's batch of eggs. I didn't want to do that to her," he replied half-jokingly.

"You've always been like that." Marik was frowning.

"…Wanting to protect eggs?"

"No." He sighed. "Never taking revenge. You have so many reasons to… More than one person who's made your life a living hell and yet, you've never done anything to any of them. Why, Bakura?"

Marik's eyes were burning with his curiosity and confusion. He really, really wanted to understand this part of his friend. Especially seeing as he usually did the opposite.

"It's actually really simple," Ryou replied calmly. "Let me explain it to you this way. Say I wanted to take revenge on the person who sold the Ring to my dad, because obviously it wasn't my dad's fault and I can't take revenge on the real problem because he's stronger than me and in my body. So I track the merchant down, yell at him to make him understand _why _I'm going to hurt him and then kill him." He couldn't help but wince slightly at the words.

"And let's just assume that it's one of those nice, neat kills like you hear about on TV. No innocents got hurt. Okay so now he's dead, and his family is mourning. Now his… let's say his cousin… his cousin is so mad at his death that _he _decides to go and kill the boss of the merchant, because it was him who told the merchant to be there the night he got killed. The boss's brother, in turn, kills the person _he _thinks he needs to take revenge on… Can you see?" His brown eyes were utterly sincere. "All it turns out to be is an endless circle of bloodshed and violence. And there is no such thing as perfect crime; innocent people will get hurt. I cannot control people's actions, or make them stop the vicious revenge cycle, so I'll stop it by me."

Marik was openly gaping at him, and Ryou could see the words sinking in.

"I suppose…" the Egyptian muttered grudgingly, frowning as this new perspective was thrown into his life. "What happens if revenge is… in your destiny, though?"

Ryou understood where this came from, as well as the desperation in the lavender eyes as they looked at him. Marik was having doubts about what he'd done, unsure now that he was quite as innocent as he wanted to believe. The white-haired teen chose his words carefully.

"Some people believe destiny and fate determine everything, and others"-he grinned at Marik-"believe that they can screw fate and make their own destiny. I believe in a mixture of both. Life, or fate, hands you certain situations. Sometimes it's because of your own choices but mostly they're things out of your control. And they suck. And they hurt, and they're always unfair. You can make your own destiny, however, by what you choose to do with the situation. There are more than two ways, Marik. Endless shades of grey, not just black and white. And everybody sees the situation differently; what you believe staunchly is the right thing, others condemn as the worst kind of evil. Sometimes you choose the wrong thing and look back and want to change it… so, _so _badly… But you can't. You made your choice, started down that road of your destiny and all you can do is learn from your mistakes, look at the choices properly the next time and carry on."

"You are one really, really screwed up person," Marik snorted at him, but his voice held a note of respect that made Ryou smile.


	6. Headache

**Title: **Headache

**Summary: **Seto Kaiba's life causes him nothing but a huge, growing headache. Well… not all aspects of his life.

**Characters: **The Kaiba brothers and a few mentions of some KC lackeys.

**Rating: **K+

**Pairings: **No romance, but brotherly love.

**Total Words: **1 517

**Warnings: **OCC-ness (that's a standard warning, in case you haven't realized yet), no real plot and… that's about it.

**Extra Notes: **I actually dislike Kaiba quite a lot. But I can't deny that him and Mokuba… Sweet ^w^

**Disclaimer: **Don't own a thing. Done purely to stave off boredom.

* * *

The shiver of the day's first light appeared as the sun snuck a peek over the horizon. The gray shadows were slowly turning to pink and brilliant red as the rest of the world slept on, oblivious to the awesome change. His eyes swept over the brilliance of the sky once, briefly, before they returned to his awakening laptop. To him, the sun's awesome journey meant nothing but the passing of precious time. The machine seated before him on the table was slow and sluggish, screen flickering 'Loading' for far too long for his liking. Working on it was a nightmare. Finally his frustration won out and he banged his fist against the keyboard of the as-expensive-as-an-ordinary-car machine. With a beep that sounded suspiciously like a swearword, the laptop switched off. When it rebooted, it had lost the little bit of important work he'd managed to do.

Tapping.

It wasn't even six AM yet, and he already felt the beginnings of a headache. The tapping just behind his temple was gentle, but he knew it would grow with his frustration. Re-starting his work, he made a mental note to fire whoever it was that had bought him the blasted machine in the first place. The first sign of life appeared in his office at a shockingly late hour. Glaring at one of his many lackeys he wondered again why he let them start work when the day was already fully underway. He never got to voice this question, though, (which was probably a very good thing for the poor Kaiba Corp. employee) as the words that came out of the man's mouth distracted him at once. There had been a mess-up with the shipping to some very influential stores in China. He had his first good yell of the day at the cowering giant of a man, amusing himself by using very creative swearwords to describe his team's incompetence. Because he was still in a pretty good mood, however, he didn't fire the man before sending him off to fix the mess so he could get ready for his 8 AM satellite meeting.

Knocking.

The foreigners were predictably late. He found himself drumming a pen on his desk in time to the new rhythm of the blood in his head. While doing this, he glared at the blank screen with almost enough ferocity to actually melt the screen. When they finally appeared it was to find out that most of them had not bothered to read his contract, as they had thought it better to speak face-to-face about such matters. It was probably a good thing they had to use translators, who wisely left out the ruder words he used. It took them three hours to sort through it all. He had planned it to last an hour at the very, very most.

Thumping.

He chewed out his secretary for good measure and then told her to get him lunch, on top of a small list of other duties. Then he sat down and tackled his infernal laptop again. Luckily someone had come in and seen to it while he had been busy, so the machine ran much smoother. He was halfway through the spreadsheet he had to create when his secretary finally came back with his lunch. Her excuse for her slowness was that he'd given her too many other things to do. The incompetence. His displeasure mounted when he bit into his food and realized she'd gotten his order wrong. Again. Seriously ticked, he decided to go and get his food himself for fear of being poisoned the next time due to the woman's stupidity. He was starting to feel a little better, steaming food in hand, when he ran into the Goon Squad. One minute of being around the delusional Muto gang was enough to make him seriously consider suicide. Those thoughts were intensified when he made the mistake to suggest that Yugi's title was down to sheer dumb luck. He would have welcomed an argument in response, but all he got was a speech centered around the single most hated phrase in his life: The heart of the cards. He marched away halfway through it.

Banging.

He finished his lunch with two headache tablets, even though he knew very well that they would not work. Settling in his large office chair he resigned himself to finish his report before the deadline. He worked non-stop for almost two hours, typing furiously and internally cursing the morning's events that had put him behind schedule. Finally, he was done. Breathing a sigh of something that would have been relief if it belonged to some other man, he logged onto his Email account and began to send the documents off. Half an hour before they were supposed to be in. Excellent. He was just sending it off when the half-impossible happened. Kaiba Corporation lost power. For a moment he could do nothing but stare in abject shock at the suddenly dark screen in the suddenly darker room. Then he jumped to his feet with a roar, and started shouting curses and profanities, firing everybody whose name he could remember. His secretary wisely stayed out of his way as he continued to rant, finally pulling out his mobile so he could demand why his company was without electricity. An hour and a lot of apologies (on their part) and shouting (on his part) later, the lights shot back up with a hum. He had to endure his own humiliation of sending in the report late.

Crashing.

Deciding he needed a change of scenery, he headed down towards the lower floor to make sure the bumbling baboons he'd employed had not made a complete and total hashup of his newest marketing strategy yet. He was barely one floor lower when the elevator decided to add to his list of disasters by giving out. He glared furiously at the cheerfully setting sun, his fists clenched and his head throbbing with frustration and anger. He punched in the appropriate number on his mobile phone with enough force to actually bruise his finger and chip some of the paint. He was beyond yelling now, and the man on the other end of the call knew that that could very well mean somebody's death. He didn't give a crap _why _the elevator had stopped he just wanted it fixed _right then_. However, despite his demand, he only started moving again after about twenty minutes. He'd disconnected the call after only ten of them, because he really didn't want an assault charge to deal with on top of everything else. And if the idiot on the other end had said "I don't know" or "Don't panic, sir" one more time, he _would _have hit him.

Roaring.

He'd given up on the morons downstairs as soon as he'd stepped into their office. He'd deal with their idiocy tomorrow. It irked him to know that he'd been stuck in an elevator for nothing except another item on the next day's list. He was back in his office, massaging his aching head, when the next bout of misfortune hit him. The company from China called him to yell at him about the shipping mess-up. Add the fact that he hated being yelled at with a passion to his already short fuse, and it was a wonder the phone line didn't blow up from the sheer heat of the conversation. Finally slamming down the phone with enough force to send it skidding off the table, he almost screamed when there was a knock on his door. With eyes spitting and teeth clenched he rounded on whoever entered and felt his expression freeze. Two large, concerned eyes stared at him from a face framed with spiky, unruly black hair. He felt the anger slip from his face like water draining from an unblocked sink. Almost automatically he asked his brother about his day. Mokuba happily launched into an in-depth tale, insisting every few minutes that 'It was _so _funny, Seto!'. Somewhere in the tale, he stopped listening just out of reflex.

Thumping.

He couldn't say no to the puppy eyes, and so he found himself leaving much earlier than he'd intended. His little brother was still chattering, but now it was a response to the news about the shipping mix-up. The tiniest beginnings of a smile twitched at his lips as he heard some of the words Mokuba used to describe the men who had been in change of shipping. It seemed as though he really did rub off on his little brother. Dinner was a thousand times better than lunch, even if it was just as hurried. He found himself in Mokuba's room, suddenly remembering the days long ago when he'd read the little boy to sleep. Now, however, the pre-teen just snuggled deeper and yawned goodnight. He responded, and flipped off the light automatically. He still had so much work but instead of heading to the study, he sunk into a chair in his brother's room and just let himself think of things other than work.

Peace.


	7. Bromance Before Romance

**Title: **Bromance Before Romance

**Summary: **Tristan and Joey are having an argument about a regular topic: Joey's younger sister and her capability of dating. But some things can't be broken up, even by love.

**Characters: **Tristan, Joey and Serenity.

**Rating: **K+

**Pairings: **Tristan and Serenity. Strong brotherly love between T and J.

**Total Words: **536

**Warnings: **OCC-ness, total lame humour, no real plot.

**Extra Notes: **I couldn't resist. Those two guys are such adorable klutzes. I'm still undecided whether I prefer Duke or Tristan with Miss Wheeler, though.

**Disclaimer: **Maybe… Nah. Still not mine.

* * *

She was a quiet girl, sweet in nature and therefore naturally hating conflict. And so it was with large eyes and fearfully clenched hands that she stared between the two roaring teenage men. They were standing at least a foot apart, body languages hostile. However, she had to take comfort in the fact that they had not yet resulted to physical violence.

"I've told ya before-!"

"She's not a child, man!"

"She's my lil' sister, ya douche!"

"Why does that stop her from being my girlfriend?"

"Eh? _Girlfriend_! Waida minute! I thought this was only _one date_!"

"Er… well… yeah… it is but…"

She was quickly becoming alarmed by the shade of red her brother's face was turning. He looked as murderous as she'd ever seen him, and she actually found herself fearing for Trsitan. She opened her mouth to try and calm them down, but neither of them were paying her any attention at all.

"But nothin'! She aint goin'!"

"Oh, come on! It's one movie! I won't even kiss her or-"

"_Kiss her_?" He was beyond rationality now. "I swear I'll pop one in your arse, Tristan Taylor! You don't touch her, hear?"

"Who are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm her brother, you retard!"

"Well you're acting like the Mayor of Doucheville!"

"Oh yeah? Well-"

"Tristan! Joey! Please!"

"I'll bet your head is so hard and full of bricks, you won't even feel this!"

Tristan bent down and scooped a box off the floor where the rest of their mail piled. With a grunt, he lobbed it at his best friend's head. Joey ducked just in time, his eyes flashing and teeth grit.

"Ya ungrateful S.O.B! Ya don't get ta chuck my own mail at me!"

He dove for the slightly squished box, intent on lobbing it back. But as he straightened up, he froze, his eyes widening. The other two froze also, wondering what was going on, charged with the tense energy the room was filled with.

"Tristan." Joey's voice was hoarse. "It's here."

At once the brunette's anger was gone. "Don't joke, man."

"I'm not. It's here! It's here!"

With frantic fingers, the blond began ripping over the box. Tristan scarpered to his side, eyes wide. They lifted what Serenity could identify as a PlayStation game, their expressions suggesting it was the giver of all life or something.

"This is so awesome!" Tristan whooped.

Almost as one the two dove for the couch, scrambling to find controls, opening the packaging, switch on the TV. She stood in shocked surprise as they moaned out loud at the beginning credits. It was as if the fight had never happened. She threw a glance at the clock on the wall. The movie was starting soon.

"Uhm… Tristan?" She was very hesitant. "Do you… still want to go and see…?"

"Huh? Oh. Some other time. Playing now."

Both boys had totally zombified expressions on their faces, eyes wide and mouths almost drooling. Every now and then they would let out an excited exclamation on how awesome the new game was. They seemed to highfive each other every other second. She shook her head, unable to keep a smile off her face. Some things would never change.


	8. The Thief's Birthday

**Title: **The Thief's Birthday.

**Summary: **Yami Bakura awakes on his special day and, true to form, causes havoc. But even the dark spirit can't foresee all things. Bakura's POV.

**Characters: **Ryou and Yami Bakura

**Rating: **T

**Pairings: **None but there are hints of Tendershipping (Ryou and Bakura) again. It's more brotherly, though.

**Total Words: **832

**Warnings: Bad **OCC-ness, very, very lame plot, AU-ness, retarded ideas for chaos Bakura makes and… lameness again.

**Extra Notes: **More Ryou and Bakura. I'm guessing you can tell I like them? Yeah I seriously doubt this would ever happen but the idea would not go away. Oh and about the whole year thing. I've always highly doubted that Yami got trapped _exactly _5000 years ago. And Bakura was already in his late teens AT LEAST when he got popped into the ring. So… I picked a random number.

The AU-ness comes in because of the fact that 'Kura remembers his past. And Ryou still has the Ring. Use your imagination- I don't have a set universe/time frame.

**Disclaimer: **Belongs to its owner. Just borrowing. And horribly messing up. Sorry.

* * *

When I awoke on that particular morning, I could almost sense that something was different. My soul room looked and felt exactly the same, and I could feel my host going through the exact same routine as he always did. The sun had still risen, the city was still blocked with the sounds of traffic and the weather was predictably completely different to what the weather forecast had predicted.

But I could sense the change. Because exactly five thousand and twelve years ago, I had been born. The thought was unsettling, twisting my guts in a rare show of discomfort. For a while I let myself remember, making sure the mindlink to my host was firmly shut beforehand. At first I remembered only the good things. When they ran out- which didn't take long- I let myself remember the bitterness. The pain. The horror. The darkness. I let myself remember why I was there, what my goal was and why.

It was roughly around that timeframe that I decided to take a break from my usual plan of capturing the Items. Instead, I would take control of the pitiful body I inhabited and I would allow myself a day of chaos. It was, after all, my birthday. I waited patiently until my host had his guard down. His struggle was easier to bat away than usual, and it put me in high spirits. I took the money he'd stashed away in his secret piggybank- technically it's my money too- and headed towards the town.

The ominous clouds mimicked my mood perfectly, and I couldn't help but smile. Actually, I suppose it was more like an insane smirk as everybody who saw me made sure to walk on the opposite side of the sidewalk. My first stop was not planned. I'd been strolling casually when I came across a little boy's birthday party. He, like so many other stupid mortals on this earth, was obsessed by Duel Monsters. I gave him- and every kid, protective older brother and father there- a good example of what a _real _duel should look like.

My second little adventure happened on the subway. I'd just been sitting, minding my own business, when a small family and their dog seated themselves- without invitation- next to me. I say dog but really it was just a sorry excuse for a walking toilet brush. And a very, very noisy one at that. After telling its owners to shut it up in no uncertain terms no less than five times, I finally lost my cool. When I left the train the little girl was screaming because her precious Patches wouldn't move. What she didn't know was that he was still around, in all senses of the word. His soul just happened to be in her stuffed elephant. I helpfully let her know this before stalking off, enjoying the looks on her parents' faces.

I stole a pretty good lunch and then amused myself by doing small acts of destruction to those shopping downtown. By the time it was mid-afternoon I had a good collection of birthday presents for myself, the police on my trail and the strong desire to get a drink. I chose the shadiest bar and only had to threaten three people before I got a drink. One or five drinks later, I found myself having fun arm-wrestling a bunch of steroid-poppers. When one of the accused me of cheating and my ensuing reaction caused the bar to become full of drunk people with knives I knew it was time to go. I'd lost a few presents, a bit of blood and a good outfit- there was no way the hole-filled items could ever be worn again- but I was more satisfied than I had been in a long while.

I decided to end my streak by stuffing my face. My host hates when I do that, which was one of the main reasons for my decision. Any rebellion on his part simply cannot be tolerated, even if it is just attempting to stop me eating when I take over. If he had been born before Tabasco Sauce and Mustard, he would experiment heavily too. And it's not like he's ever been poisoned badly by my meal-choices before. And so I headed towards the refrigerator, intent on making myself a new concoction. The first thing I saw when I opened the fridge was the cake. Almost automatically I pulled it out and looked down at the simple icing.

_Happy Birthday, yami. _

I can remember staring at it, as though waiting for it to dissolve into a dream or something. But it continued to sit calmly in my hands. My host… Ryou… he must have gotten up extra early to bake it. I could tell it was not store-bought. I moved toward the trashcan, ready to throw it out.

For reasons I cannot even explain to myself I ate the whole cake and washed the plate when I was done.


	9. Mrs Pegasus

**Title: **Mrs Pegasus

**Summary:** A flashback of when our favourite card creator first met the love of his life.

**Characters: **The two Pegasuses. The people, not the horses.

**Rating: **K+

**Pairings: **Pegasus and his wife. Cecilia, I think her name was.

**Total Words: **589

**Warnings: **OCC-ness, AU plot, lameness.

**Extra Notes: **These two get so little love. And writing the mysterious woman was just too good to pass up.

**Disclaimer: **Thank your lucky stars it didn't really happen this badly. It would have if I owned the series.

* * *

To him, it looked like a very fancy boutique come to life. The suits he saw walking proudly by him cost almost as much as the exquisite, gourmet food. He knew this for a certain fact because he knew how much his own suit cost. But it was not the suits that caught the most of his attention. Instead, it was the dresses. Lustrous reds, pure whites, flashy golds, petite pinks. They twirled and shimmied everywhere, taunting him with the beauties they adorned.

Many of the beauties were currently in front of him, beaming and fluttering their eyelashes as he spoke in his best gentleman voice. They had never heard of him before- his fame was in its infancy. But they did know he had to be very rich or influential or both to be at that particular party. And so they hung on every word he spoke as if they were lifewater. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it immensely.

Things started to get competitive between the girls. Comments were laced with barely-concealed threats or subtext, and the flirting had moved on to actual touching. Stroking his arm, squeezing his hand, adjusting his perfectly straight tie. The wine spritzers he was consuming helped his relaxation, and before he knew it he was smirking like the other men being doted upon. There was only one wet patch.

"A card game for children?"

The voice was skeptical and dry- a stark contrast to the flirty simpering of the others. All eyes turned to the right, and he got his first look at the blond beauty. She was wearing a plain black dress, contrasting again with her environment. The jewels she wore were simple and symbolic looking. She held herself with grace and even though her tone was mocking, there was a teasing light to her eyes.

"My dear, you do not understand the capabilities of such a franchise," he replied politely.

She bristled a bit at the 'dear' comment, then raised a manicured eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you expect adults to play this children's card game too?"

He laughed lightly. "If they so wish. I fully intend to play it myself. But that is not what I was referring to."

"I should hope not. Putting faith that you will become rich from such a thing is slightly ridiculous. If you'll pardon my frankness."

The rest of the beauties were long forgotten. "This game has been created before, in a sense."

A laugh. "You're plagiarizing?"

He waved his hand airily. "Like I would ever do such a thing. No, it was never fully written down. This game was first played over five thousand years ago in Egypt. Except they used magic."

He could tell this intrigued her, even though she fought to hide it. "Real magic? That doesn't exist."

"I assure you, my dear, it does. I've seen proof in countless stone tablets. And, I believe there are seven items that actually have magical properties themselves. Perhaps…" He hesitated, ignoring the hands on his arms. "Perhaps you would like to hear more?"

She regarded him carefully for a long time, seemingly sizing him up. He felt a thrill of excitement at her stare.

"Perhaps," she finally agreed.

She turned and walked away, and he watched her go with a new feeling brewing in his gut. He was absolutely sure he would get her details and name by the end of the night. No matter what it took. Who knew? Maybe they would even become friends…


	10. Dreaming

**Title: **Dreaming

**Summary: **Set directly after the end of the fifth season. Marik becomes broody and bitter again and just needs somebody who really understands what all the magic and spirits has done to him. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this. Fortunately, Ryou does.

**Characters: **Marik and Ryou with appearances from the rest of the gang and the Ishtars.

**Rating: **T+

**Pairings: **Strong friendship. That's _it. _

**Total Words: **2 874

**Warnings: **OCC-ness, mentions of abuse, mentions of gore and violence, a lot of author's liberty taken, more merging of original, dub and manga and more rather lameness. Also, a very bad reference to YGOTAS. Couldn't help myself.

**Extra Notes: **This really wouldn't leave me alone. It plagued me for weeks before I finally typed it out. It sucks really badly, I know. Nothing is properly explained or even rather probable. This also has a few hints of my very first YGO fic. I guess I liked those enough not to let them go.

**Disclaimer: **Only for my pleasure. I have a slightly rotten mind. Sorry, Ryou hun.

* * *

Even though there were many torches lit it still seemed dark. The walls seemed to radiate cold depression and it was because of that that he couldn't bring himself to touch the ancient stone. It took him a while to find his friend after his quiet decent into what seemed like the bowels of the earth. In fact, it was his voice that made him register the sprawled out form on the ground.

"Welcome to my lovely house."

Marik's voice was dead and flooded with sarcasm. Instead of replying, Ryou allowed himself to sink down to the floor, his back resting against the cold stone. The silence stretched for ages as he watched Marik watch the ceiling, the torches causing the little light there was to splutter erratically.

"Your sister was worried," the older teen finally said.

"So she sent you down here to check up on me and make me come up again." He was bitter and sneering.

"No. I chose to come down here. Thought maybe I could help. Or just… I dunno. Try to understand."

More silence. It was almost oppressive. Ryou busied himself by looking around. There were little signs of life everywhere being attacked and destroyed by the sand or the cobwebs. It was obvious the Ishtars had not lived inside for years. Not since Battle City.

"You really think you can understand?" Marik asked quietly.

"I don't know." Ryou's voice was just as quiet. "But I think I have the best chance at it."

Marik was suddenly upright, his body throwing grotesque shadows on the walls. His face was pulled together in sneering, furious sadness. Ryou's skin prickled but he did not inch away. He also forced himself to keep the gaze, his face calm and open.

"Nobody can understand," he spat.

"Because you're not letting any of us try." Firmly yet still gently.

"This,"-the Egyptian gestured to the room they were in-"was my prison. For almost all my life."

"Then why are you refusing to come out of it now?"

Another staring contest began, lilac eyes to dark brown. Marik seemed to be trying to death-glare the other boy away. But Ryou Bakura had withstood much more than one hurting friend's glares. It was still surprising that Marik folded first.

"Because. It's a prison but it's also… a safezone." It killed him to admit it, and Ryou could hear that. "In here I'm captive but… Nothing can take me down another notch. And I…" He let out a dark chuckle. "There's no one here for me to hurt."

"So are you going to stay down here forever?" His voice was flat. "You spent all that time and energy escaping this place and when you're finally, truly free you… lock yourself back in."

Marik could hear the half-hidden accusation in the white-haired teen's voice, and it surprised him. His expression turned confused as he tried to read Ryou's reasons. It hit him after only a few seconds of pondering. Of course Ryou would think people foolish who went back into living nightmares. He'd been trying to escape his own prison for longer than Marik had. A few beats after the realization, the self-defense was back.

"You don't understand."

"You've told me that already."

He regretted the sharp words as soon as they left his mouth. Marik's eyes grew darker, and Ryou's heart twanged in guilt. He knew the other teen knew what he was trying to force home. But Atem's departure had hit more than one hikari hard. Everything that Marik had been born for- all the pain and darkness and memories that he had put on hold for the last two years because his duty was still to his Pharaoh… All of that had come crashing back when the gates to the Afterlife closed. And with the coming of the old pain and insecurity and emotions came also the departure of reason.

"You don't have a freaking clue." The Egyptian's voice was shaking. "Do you even have an inkling of what it's like to carry scars that you don't deserve? Scars that still hurt? That remind you every time I the mirror that you were too weak, too unimportant too… Just… Just a pawn in somebody or something's freaking life plan?"

They stared at each other in the semi-darkness for another long while. Marik's shoulders were heaving slightly as he tried to gain a hold of himself.

"I got those here," he continued, jabbing at the empty air in pure loathing hatred. "Because of this place and a few men I…" He swallowed. "What if I don't want the world to be able to see that any more? You have no freaking idea what that's like," he repeated, almost accusingly. "So you don't know how hard it is or even the sense that is in what I'm saying right now."

His companion said nothing and Marik basked in his bittersweet victory. The cynical basking didn't last very long. Slowly Ryou got to his feet, face carefully blank. Marik watched, equally as expressionless, convincing himself that he was glad the other boy was finally leaving. Ryou did not even make a move towards the exit. Instead, he hesitantly began pulling off his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Marik was surprised into wide-eyes shock.

He got no reply except for Ryou lowering his arms, his shirt firmly held in both hands. He was about to demand an answer when he saw it for himself. The feeling that came with the sight was akin to being kicked in the gut. Hard. His shock intensified and although he wanted to, he could not look away. Scars littered the pale flesh of the boy standing before him. Some were faint lines, others deep rivers that seemed to flicker with the torchlight. They were different sizes and shapes, circling everywhere around his torso and upper arms. There was one that strayed so close to his throat that Marik almost flinched just looking at it.

"I don't… even know where I got most of these." Ryou was staring down at his hands, frowning. "They'd just… appear one morning when I woke up. Or one evening in some random alley. Or somewhere in a nightmare that was my 'punishment'. I do know that I gave a few like these. To strangers that I probably will never recognize on the street." His fingers lightly traced a prominent scar on his arm that Marik recognized with a sickening twist of guilt. Ryou's eyes flickered up, meeting his again. "I get it," he said quietly.

And Marik could not argue. Ryou replaced his shirt quickly, suddenly seeming embarrassed and ashamed. He returned to his earlier seated position, curling his legs up to his chin as he drew circles in the dust. The hush stretched longer than all the others as Marik struggled and Ryou patiently let him.

"How do you do it?" came the eventual, quiet question.

"What?"

"Free yourself from your prison knowing what's out there. Knowing… what you did. How do you get rid of the guilt? What's the motivation to… carry on through the aftereffects?"

"Sometimes… Sometimes you've just got to."

A surprised bark of laughter. "That's it?"

A nod. "That's it. I wish I could say something to inspire you or whatever but… I don't have anything like that. Sometimes you've just got to do it, even though there's no reason or motivation."

"That's absolute crap." He was angry again; disappointed that he hadn't been given what he was craving. "'Sometimes you've just got to'. Fat load of help that is, Bakura."

Marik was glaring at the wall, so he did not see the number of times Ryou opened his mouth in the next few minutes. He did not see how it took every inch of willpower to choke out the next sentence, how much he wanted to let the Egyptian hate him in exchange for the blessed silence.

"I had a sister."

Marik's head snapped around to him so fast his neck nearly cracked. Ryou's hands were balled into tight fists, and he stared at them resolutely. Marik waited, and Ryou struggled. It took him a full five minutes before he could literally force the rest of the story out.

"She… was younger than me. By about four minutes. We… I… We were best friends growing up. All the time, even as we got older. My father had to move for work and… I was the most worried. She… She made friends so easily. She just… attracted light and warmth as much as she gave it off." His hands scrubbed hard at his face, nails digging into the flesh unheedingly. "I made them wait in the car. When I went to buy my schoolbooks. I didn't want to be labeled immediately because I went in with my sister and my mother. I made them _swear _they wouldn't move an inch. Threw a tantrum, begged and pleaded and… ordered. While I was inside there was a truck and… and… My father stayed with my mother in the hospital and I got to hold my sister while she died. Every year my father either calls or sends a message or something. And every year the end is exactly the same: He knows I didn't mean for it to happen. He knows I didn't plan it. But he won't forgive me. Not ever." Slowly he looked up again, into the eyes that hadn't been able to pull their horrified gaze away. Tears were leaking freely from the brown points, but his voice was still steady. "Sometimes you've just _got to_."

Marik swallowed, loud and hard, staring straight back at his crying friend. Something painful was happening inside his chest and stomach. He'd known that out of all of them, Ryou was the most like him. He'd still never thought the boy would have physical scars similar to him. He'd never even imagined how deep the emotional scars would run. For the first time in what felt like forever, Marik didn't feel alone. Footsteps smashed through their haze and Ryou instantly ducked his face so whoever it was could not see his tears. Ishizu hesitated on the second last step, her eyes and concern for her brother.

Almost dreading the answer, she took a deep breath and asked, "Are you coming up, Marik?"

For a moment, he said nothing, and her shoulders seemed to sag as she foresaw yet another rejection. Then, quietly, Marik replied. "I'll be right up."

The other two in the underground tomb looked at him in surprise, their eyes questioning. Ishizu smiled softly before turning and heading up. Ryou just continued to question his friend with his gaze. But Marik refused to reply and instead he just stood and offered his hand to the other boy. Ryou allowed himself to be pulled up, and the two walked in silence up the stairs. The kiss of the sunlight on their faces was unlike any other feeling. It was scolding and promising at the same time, and both of them felt the relief the sight of the light brought.

Ryou did not go to the small, huddled group that was Yugi and his friends. Instead he stared out at the rolling, heat-covered dunes. His face told that he was far away, locked up in the maze of his own thoughts. Unnoticed, Marik watched him, seemingly understanding the encoded message in his eyes. After a long, long while the brown eyes closed, squeezing shut as though he was praying for strength or relief or forgiveness. Then, running a hand tiredly through his hair, he finally turned himself towards his group of friends. They did not notice him coming until he was right there. They were all too downcast, too preoccupied with their own sorrow.

"Yugi?" Four pairs of eyes zoned in on him. "Your grandfather has a part of his shop that sells second-hand cards, right?"

The small teen nodded, confused. "For all those who can't afford the new ones. Why?"

Ryou pulled his deck of cards from his pocket. For a second he let himself feel their weight, running a thumb down the side of each one. Then he slapped the whole pile in front of the small group. "Consider it as a friendly donation."

Yugi's eyes grew large. "What? No, Bakura, I couldn't take them. They're yours-"

"No, Yugi. They're not." A beat of silence, before the younger boy began to protest again. Ryou cut across him. "Look, either they go to your grandfather or I'm burning them." His tone was final. "I'm done, Yugi. Never again."

With only one more second's hesitation, he turned and walked away. The first smidge of shade he found was where he slid to the ground, allowing the sand to cushion him as he watched the lazy clouds. He didn't know what he was feeling. Footsteps vibrated against his head, and Marik plopped to the ground beside him.

"How melodramatic." The white-haired teen smiled slightly, but did not reply. "You know he's going to try and give them back at least once more."

"I'm glad to be rid of all of them," Ryou replied firmly.

"All but one."

Confusion pulled at his brow and he turned to ask what Marik was talking about. He froze when his gaze was met with the sight of Marik twirling a card in his fingers.

"Give that back to Yugi."

"No," Marik replied simply. "You have to keep this one."

"Why?" His voice was weary. "What is it?"

Marik shook his head. "Not going to tell you. Not till I'm sure you won't throw it away."

"I'm never going to want to keep it," he promised quietly. "You're wasting your time."

"Maybe. Or maybe I know some things so you should just shut up and trust me." Silence. "And if you try to get rid of it I'll just keep bringing it back to you. I'll carve your name into it so nobody will ever forget it's yours."

"Now who's being melodramatic?"

The Egyptian flicked the card between his fingers, causing a snapping noise to appear every few seconds. "Speaking of names… Why do you want to be called only by your surname?"

Ryou jerked in surprise, his mouth hanging open slightly, Marik stared at him patiently, waiting for the answer. The white-haired teen shifted uncomfortably, lowering his eyes before he mumbled his reply.

"My mom named me. Ryou is… Ryou is her name. Hers and my sister's and my old father's. I wanted to have my own name, one that wasn't haunted by anybody. So I made them all call me Bakura. It was easier. It was mine."

"And then _he _came and stole it."

A slightly bitter laugh. "And then he came and stole it."

"Well." Marik's voice was over-bright. "I guess well just have to get you another name now. How about Steve?"

Brown eyes stared at him in dumbfounded surprise. "Steve?"

A shrug. "I like that name."

Ryou had to laugh. Both teens watched the shifting clouds for a while before Marik suddenly and without warning handed the card over to its owner. With a thudding heart Ryou took it and turned it over. The Change Of Heart stared back at him, her warm smile innocent and hiding so many memories. He wanted to scream and throw it far away. Burn it. Tear it up. Smash it to a million pieces. Instead he swallowed, shut his eyes, and put it gently in his pocket. Marik didn't say a word; didn't even look smug. He just continued to watch the skies.

"Do you know why I know you need that card?" Ryou shook his head. "Because… Because you're the only one I can tell the revelation I've had to without being considered insane." A pause. "I… I hate my darker half. So much. I hate how he was created, I hate what he's like and, most of all, I hate what he did. And I'm so, so glad he was thrown to the Shadows. And I hope he suffers and screams and… and…" He took a deep breath. "But even so… I know that if he were to come back I'd let him share my body again. I hate him and I'm quite honestly scared of him but… I'd also welcome him back. I'd choose him even though I'd wish the whole time that he would be thrown to the darkest part of hell. And you'd do the same, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." The admission was no more than a breath.

Marik slowly nodded. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Two pairs of hands clenched into fists before Marik started laughing. "We are so screwed up, aren't we? The nightmare's finally fully over and we're already sure… We are so terribly, terribly screwed up." His laughter had a touch of hysteria.

"I'm worried." Ryou's confession was blurted out, his entire body tense. "I… I've been in the nightmare so long I… I don't know if I know if I can dream anymore."

"So don't." Simple. Gentle. "Keep your eyes wide open and embrace the night."

A soft smile and a shared look of deep understanding. Then both hikaris continued to watch the clouds, eyes wide open to the sun.


	11. It Has To Be Different

**Title: **It Has To Be Different

**Summary: **Marik never expected his holiday in Japan to have an occurrence like this. Nor had he ever thought Ryou Bakura would ever snap. Could be a sequel to _Dreaming_, if you squint really hard.

**Characters: **Ryou and Marik, again.

**Rating: **T+

**Pairings: **Strong friendship. Nothing more. (Unless you firmly make yourself see other things.)

**Total Words: **1 655

**Warnings: **OCC-ness, violence, gore, dark themes, slight insanity, still no plot.

**Extra Notes: **I feel bad for doing it to Ryou. Kinda. But this one wouldn't go away. And I am subject to my muse.

**Disclaimer:** It's all mine! Not.

* * *

Whatever Marik had been expecting, it wasn't this.

Ryou and him had obviously spoken about getting together to hang out sometime in his two-week visit to Japan, but they had never made concrete plans. And so the white-haired teen's text had taken the Egyptian by surprise. But he had responded to the barely-concealed plea in the message, wondering what on earth would have Ryou upset enough to turn to him at nearly ten PM. He expected the door to the small apartment to be opened by a sheepish Ryou who immediately explained away the confusing turn of events.

But instead of an apologetic look the first thing that hit him was the smell.

He couldn't place it at first yet even so his stomach reacted. It curled in nausea as his skin prickled uncomfortably. Trying to make his understanding catch up to his memory-induced reaction he scanned wildly about. His eyes immediately locked in to the towel wrapped around the other teen's forearm. The white, conventional kitchen cloth was speckled with a red Marik knew only too well.

His lavender eyes shot immediately back up to the brown ones, searching for answers as he tried to swallow his alarm. The usually warm points were almost dead- glazed over with a sort of hopelessness that made the Egyptian want to turn and run. He didn't want to face whatever the problem was- he'd had enough of them in his own life. Before he could act on his cowardice he forced himself into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Ryou didn't say a word; he just stared. The silence grew from uncomfortable to sizzling with tension. The wrongness of the circumstances- the smell and the look in Ryou's eyes and the lateness and the silence- grew and transformed into something that seemed to press down on them in a suffocating weight. Marik couldn't take it.

"What the hell?" He'd meant for it to sound gentler.

For another beat there was silence. Then: "I need you to tell me he was real."

The feeling of surprise slammed into Marik for the third time that evening. His mind struggled to understand the teen's desperate words, fumbling around in confused darkness. Seeing this, Ryou tried again.

"I… I need you to tell me the spirit was real. I need you to… to _honestly _tell me that the Millennium Ring was possessed. I need you… I need you to tell me that he did those things that… I need you to tell me it wasn't me."

If Marik had been an artist, he would have called the image of Ryou's face _The Drowning Man_. As it was he was not an artist, just another teenage boy who understood the desire and desperation that was pouring from Ryou in waves. Firmly he grasped the other boy's shoulders, making sure he was easily shakable if words didn't do the trick.

"Five thousand years ago there was a man in Egypt known as the Thief King. There was also a great dark power known as Zorc. Now one of those souls, or a bit of both of them, got trapped in the Millennium Ring. And a few years ago this soul entered your body and took over. Do you understand?"

Almost dumbly, Ryou nodded. Some of the sheer panic had left his body and eyes, but there was still blankness. Still uncertainty. Marik tightened his grip, trying to drive the truth home. It was important that he doubted as little as possible. It was so very, very important.

"You could do nothing to stop him- you weren't strong enough. No, not only that- you had no clue what was happening. You did nothing to warrant getting the Ring and… and… it just _wasn't your fault_. It wasn't you. _You _tried to fight it. Remember? Yugi told me about the whole Change of Heart thing on Pegasus' island. It wasn't you."

The young Egyptian had never been good with words for comforting purposes. He could command an army, intimidate, manipulate, sweet-talk. But comfort and compassion… They were almost foreign languages to him. However, this time he could speak those languages. This time he knew exactly the right words to calm his friend down, to change his eyes back to warmth. This time he knew, because this time he understood. He had the words because they were ones he'd needed to hear himself. But the words had never been directed at him in all honesty. Because in his situation, they were not the truth.

"Do you understand?" A mute nod from a head whose expression was flooded with relief. The mouth opened, no doubt to either apologize or thank, but he cut across the forming words. "How long…?" _How long has it been plaguing you? _

"I… dunno. I think… Today. Last night. I dreamed…"

He didn't have to say any more: Marik understood it all. "And that?"

Shame crossed the pale face of his companion as he immediately tried to hide the arm Marik had just gestured to. A slight rush of colour entered his cheeks in embarrassment, and his eyes skittered nervously to the table. Marik followed his gaze and found an antique-looking knife glinting on the surface. His stomach lurched.

"You cut yourself."

More shame. Ryou could not look him in the eyes. His fingers picked nervously at the frayed edges of the towel. Marik waited, his gaze boring intensely into the side of his head. He would not let it go without an explanation. The white-haired teen sighed.

"I…" He seemed unable to go on. Gesturing helplessly at nothing, he clenched his jaw and struggled for words. Finally giving up on finding an adequate verbal justification, he slowly began to unwrap his crudely bandaged arm. There were three angry red lacerations, dry after all the pressure put on them. Marik had no time to assess them properly before Ryou was turning his arm, angling it in a different way. Between and beside the fresh cuts were scars of old ones. "He did those." Ryou's voice was quiet. "I… I wanted to know if it was different when I did it myself." A deep breath. "I needed to know that it was different."

Slowly, the blond found himself nodding. At that moment he knew why he'd been the one Ryou had called. Everybody else would have been despairing or panicking. And yet he could not, because the older teen's actions were almost an exact mirror of his own.

"It is different." His voice held full, unwavering conviction. "Where're the bandages?" He knew there were some.

"Bathroom. But you don't have to-"

Marik was already walking. In the cabinet he found an entire First Aid Kit. The amount of bandages inside made his mouth thin in an odd mixture of comprehension and déjà vu. It was only when he returned to the living room that he realized how hot it was in the apartment. There was sweat on both his and Ryou's foreheads. His companion looked uncomfortably embarrassed, shifting around and unable to meet the Egyptian's eyes. Somehow they ended up sitting on the couch with Marik watching Ryou tend to his own wounds with practiced fingers. Some abnormality niggled at his mind as he watched, but because he was focusing on the wounds themselves it took a while for him to realize what was wrong.

"You're shaking," he frowned.

Ryou's smile was apologetic. "It's really cold in here, I know. Sorry."

Marik stared at him blankly, looking for signs of sarcasm or humour. There were none, and his gaze flickered up to his forehead, wondering if he'd imagined the sweat. But no, there it was clinging to the pale skin and mattering the white hair. Frowning deeper, Marik suddenly extended his hand and placed it against Ryou's forehead. The teen jumped in surprise, blinking rapidly. His skin beneath Marik's fingers burned.

"You're sick. That's why you were dreaming… things… last night."

"I'm not-"

"Have you eaten anything today?" It was more out of the need to win the argument than actual concern.

"No. I wasn't hungry."

"Wasn't hungry as in 'too busy for food' or as in 'I'll just chuck it back up again'?"

"Marik, I'm not-"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Silence. "Get me a blanket, would you?" The brown eyes narrowed, still slightly glazed because of the fever. "For me, twat. Seeing as I'm here, I might as well take advantage of your television. The movie that's on is good."

Ryou complied and even though he was sweating from the heat, he threw the soft material over himself. As he watched the unknown movie, he kept his peripheral vision on his friend. When Ryou had fallen asleep- not even an hour after the movie had started- the blanket was transferred onto him. Unconsciously, the shivering teen snuggled down deeper into the soft warmth. Mutely Marik watched him, paying special attention to the furrow in his brow and the way his hands clenched. He could guess the content of the dreams.

"It _is _different," he told Ryou quietly yet firmly. "It has to be different."

If it wasn't, then the little bit of sanity the two of them were griping with all their strength would be nothing but an illusion. He knew the importance of the differentiation. He knew exactly how much was riding on the fact that there were two souls, not one. He knew from personal experience that it was not the last time the panicked doubt would creep up on the teen. And he feared that Ryou would not have to be feverish for it to come again. He knew. He'd been there. And even the comfort of somebody who knew would ultimately not be enough. Because when it came down to the crunch…

"I _has to _be different."

With the plea sent to every deity, spirit and general fate known to man he returned his thoughts to the movie.

* * *

_It's proof to show that I'd bleed for this _

_I'd cut myself to shame_

_To get to know [the] masochist _

_Who's stolen my first name _

_-Blue October _


End file.
